The Cauldron of Revenants
by Jennifer Hollis
Summary: The Final Battle had destroyed everything and everyone that Harry Potter held dear in his life except for his best friend Hermione Granger. The two flee the wizarding world, living in secret among Muggles, their lives finally turning to normal. But a dark
1. Default Chapter

**Prologue **

_All dead all dead_

_All the dreams we had_

_And I wonder why I still live on_

_All dead all dead_

_And alone I'm spared_

_My sweeter half instead_

_All dead and gone all dead_

-All dead, All dead. Brian May

It was dark and all was silent. Across the dark and charred earth nothing moved save for the leafless branches moving back and forth through a stale breeze. The wind picked up, and bits of dirt and debris floated across a bloody ground, hitting a limp figure in the middle of the desolate area. A solitary stone rolled across the ground and smacked against a pale, dirt stained cheek. Dark brown, wavy hair spilled into the dirt, it's once glossy sheen masked in blood, sweat and burnt earth.

Weak hands clawed into the raw earth and the body flinched as it suddenly came to life. A slight moan escaped through chapped and bloody lips as she struggled to lift her head. Heaving a soul rattling sigh, she managed to sit up and let herself take in the surroundings. A strong gust of wind picked up and she closed her eyes slightly – to stop the drifting dirt from penetrating her already sensitive eyes. Looking down at her hands, she saw that they were cut and bloody – a sign that hinted as to what had happened to her. She gently massaged her temple – and the pounding in her head escalated to colossal proportions. Closing her eyes, fully this time, she was greeted with flashing lights and the screams of a generation dying.

Her eyes flew open and she stifled a small gasp as a wall of dirt flew towards her. She put her hands up to protect her face – the dirt slapped into her hands as if punishing her. She cried out for help, but she already knew that help wouldn't come. She was all alone. There wasn't anyone there to hold her or to tell her that it would be alright. They were gone. If she had to envision her own hell, this would be it.

Struggling to her feet, she balked for a split second, reaching out for anything to steady her wavering figure. Once she had gained her balance, the girl began an ungainly and off center walk. Her left ankle was screaming in pain but she didn't stop to comfort it; she had to keep going or she would never find out who had survived.

She continued walking, wondering if she would be joined by anyone else. She didn't know what she would do if only she had survived. One more step and her left foot brushed up against a broken twig. Bending down, she picked up the bough and noticed that it wasn't a branch but a wand: her wand.

Clutching her broken wand, she remembered what had happened. It was as clear as if she was watching it happen right in front of her own eyes.

_Curses were flying everywhere, yellow, red, blue, violet and, the one hue that made everyone in the melee pause – a blinding green. A yellow beam of wandlight flew towards her, but she was able to block the curse with ease. _

"_You destroyed him!" a snarling voice said right behind her, "He has nothing left! I'm going to enjoy watching you die!"_

_A clawed hand lodged into the side of her face, leaving long scratches in her face. She found herself being thrown to the ground, her wand leaving the protective grasp of her finger as she collided with the ground. She cried out as the palm of her hands slid across gravel, bits of skin flaking off, only to be replaced by small bits of stone and rubble. _

"_Now…I want you to scream…and beg for your life." _

_She saw her opponent's eyes alight with malice and hatred. For one of the first times in her life, she genuinely knew she was going to die. Keeping her hands up, a feeble attempt to protect herself, she stayed sprawled on the ground hoping that if the end did come, it would be quick and painless. _

"_Kill me, Bella," she said softly the blood on her face mixing with tears of sorrow and hate, "Kill me, but I will never beg for my life." Bellatrix Lestrange snarled once more as she stalked towards the young woman sprawled on the ground, wand raised. It was at that moment she knew the end was near._

"'_MIONE, NO!" a hoarse voice cried out. Hermione looked up and saw Ron come dashing over, pushing aside people who were holding him back. It all happened in a blur – a blinding green light and she was blown away, tumbling head over heels unti herl body met the ground with a sickening crack. _

Hermione gently put a hand up to her still-bleeding face. If she ever escaped this nightmare she knew that the scars would stay with her for the rest of her life. Her brown eyes searched the scene for any signs of life. There could be the slight chance that he had survived and then everything would be alright. But she couldn't get her hopes up if she did. If she did, and it turned out that he was dead, her head would explode.

She continued to walk around the area, noticing the crumpled form of Bellatrix Lestrange, finally defeated, lying stale in the red earth. Hermione had half a mind to spit on her, or to give her some informal send off to the one place where she belonged – but Hermione knew better. She was above Bellatrix and wouldn't stoop to the horrid woman's level. So she continued to walk until she came up to a fallen tree, a dead tree.

Hermione would have overlooked the tree had she not seen someone squashed beneath the tree, a mop of red hair matching the red dirt. "Oh, Merlin," Hermione whispered as she rushed forward, grabbing onto the tree. She grimaced as the bark cut into her tender hands but she tried her best to pull the trunk off the cowering figure that lay underneath the tree.

Surprisingly, she was able to lift the trunk off the figure and she pushed her hair away from her eyes as she got down on her hands and knees and crawled over to her fallen comrade. "Can you hear me?" she whispered as she grabbed her best friend, Ronald Weasley by the shoulders and hoisted him onto her lap, "Ron! Ron, can you hear me?" she whispered, her voice becoming more frantic by the minute.

She quickly checked for his pulse and let out a small sob when she realized that there wasn't a heartbeat. Hermione looked down at him and saw that everything was relaxed. There was no tension in his body – he was completely limp. "Ron," she whispered, as the tears fell down her cheeks, creating clear tear streaks down her face. He had a massive cut on his forehead and she could tell by the way his leg was positioned that it was broken. But that couldn't be what had killed him. It had been all Hermione's fault. If she had been more careful and had seen Bellatrix coming…Ron wouldn't be lying here – dead.

"Oh Ron," she cried hoarsely as she leaned down and hugged her best friend tightly. "Ron I'm so sorry." She brought her hand up and let it brush away a small piece of red hair from his eyes. Hermione shook him gently hoping that it would wake him from this trying slumber. "Ronald Weasley, open your eyes. Right now!" she commanded suddenly, giving him a hard shake.

It was impossible. He had sacrificed himself so that she could live. He was dead because of her lack of judgment in such a high-stakes environment. It was her fault that Ron Weasley, the love of her life, the one who made her feel complete no matter what the situation, was dead. She choked back a heart-wrenching sob as she hugged him tightly, silently wishing that he would wake up, or that she was running through a bad dream and would soon wake up to his comforting arms around her or his soft kiss.

"Hermione," a hoarse voice whispered. Hermione didn't hear it at first; she was busy wishing with all her might that Ron would wake up and laugh at her for being so daft. He always hated it when she got this way over things. It had been like that since they were fourteen when she had concocted S.P.E.W. and had made her two best friends join because she could find no one else to join. Now, thoughts of S.P.E.W. long gone, Hermione didn't have either of them. She had seen no sign of Harry since the start of the battle and Ron…Hermione didn't want to think about Ron…at least she didn't want to think about him as he was now, pressed against her body cold and not moving.

"HERMIONE!"

"What?" she shrieked loudly looking up quickly. Her mouth sagged open and she would have dropped Ron onto the ground if she hadn't been holding onto him so tightly. It looked like he had been through a meat grinder. His famous glasses were gone and a smudge of dirt covered his renowned lightning bolt scar. His shoulders were sagging and he had cuts and bruises all over his body. His clothes were in tatters and it seemed like he had aged twenty years. The spark of joy and passion that had once resided in Harry's brilliant green eyes was gone. His eyes now resembled a dark stone that had no luster or shine to it. His mouth fell in the corners, resulting in a permanent frown and his shoulders drooped forward as if he had been standing on his feet for a long time.

Hermione looked at him, her mouth agape. She had heard many of the Order members predicting in hushed voices in dark corridors and secluded crevices that he was supposed to die along with the Dark Lord. The third part of the prophecy had predicted that Harry would be killed along with his greatest enemy. So many people believed that he would have been killed. Hermione had even talked about it with Ron when he was…still alive.

Even now it was hard to think about Ron being gone. Breaking the gaze she held with the man that stood before her, she looked down at the lifeless body of Ronald Weasley. Could he really be gone?

"Hermione, I've been calling your name for the past five minutes," his voice came again, this time it was not only hoarse but Hermione could hear it crack with emotion. She looked back up at the man, who was little more than a scared seventeen-year old boy, and saw that his eyes were filled with tears. He had done it again, although this time it was supposed to be impossible. How was he able to escape while Ron had fallen and was never going to get up again? How could that be fair? "Would you please answer me?" he pleaded.

"You," Hermione started as she looked up at him, her lower lip trembling with emotion and malnutrition, "You're supposed to be dead," she said softly and she looked away ashamed that she had said such a horrible thing.

"I know. I don't know how I survived; I knew I wasn't supposed to," he said, voice shaking slightly. The next thing she knew he was down on his knees sitting next to her, breathing hard and looking in the face of his fallen friend, "This is all my fault," he murmured and he shook his head rubbing it with his left hand, covered in red scratches.

"I won't let you blame yourself this time," Hermione whispered, before she looked back up to her other best friend with a sad expression. Her eyes also began to brim with tears and she had to look away once again, her brown hair falling in front of her face. "This time it was my fault." They were greeted with an awkward silence except for the slight breeze that came through periodically ruffling their tattered and dirty clothes.

"Is everyone…" Hermione whispered, finally breaking the silence. She didn't want to think of everyone she ever knew and loved as finally gone. She had no one left except for this boy standing in front of her and at the moment it wasn't very comforting.

"Yeah…they're all…" It was apparent that not even the Boy Who Outlived Voldemort could finish that sentence but he was able to give a definite answer to Hermione's inquiry. She bowed her head and silently willed something, anything, to happen. She didn't want to believe it had all happened. Taking another look at Ron, Hermione took a quivering breath and brushed another lock out of his face.

"He saved me," she croaked as she let a finger connect his freckles together. It was a game they had played together before their lives had been turned upside down. She remembered they would make words and animals or odds and ends out of the freckles on his face. Now the tiny red dots that had once been the bane of his existence, and later a high form of entertainment stood out sickeningly against his pallid face void, of any signs of life.

"I know…and I did nothing," he responded before he put his head in his hands and began to cry – finally broken. Slowly, gently Hermione placed Ron down on the ground, puzzlingly afraid that if he were jostled she would disrupt his sleeping. Crawling over she placed a hand on her sobbing friend's shoulder. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the savior of the wizarding world looked up for a moment before flinging himself into her arms, body rigid with rigid sobs.

She willed herself not to cry. He needed someone else to be strong for once. Harry had been there for Hermione and Ron whenever they needed him the most. No matter what trouble she or Ron had managed to get into, Harry was always there to sort it out. Now he needed someone and Hermione couldn't turn him away. She gently soothed his sobs, until they became muffled whimpers and he was finally able to pull away and face her, his eyes red and puffy.

"Are you sure it's just us?" Hermione asked as she looked back over towards Ron. He still hadn't moved, _'Please wake up_,' she silently thought hoping and praying that she was still in a bad dream.

"I looked and looked. We're the only ones left. Merlin knows why."

"The Order?" she inquired.

"Destroyed." Hermione blanched and put her head in her hands. It was impossible.

"Where are we?" she finally asked. They certainly weren't anywhere near Hogwarts. She couldn't see any sign of the castle and the Forbidden Forest and the Lake was nowhere to be seen.

"Hogwarts."

"What?" she asked incredulously. "We can't be – this place is…"

"A war zone," Harry finished for her, "Everything was destroyed. The forest was flattened, the lake dried up and the dirt and rubble you're standing on…the castle. It's all gone…and I helped him…I helped him do it," Harry's hands balled up into fists and he slammed them into the ground making puffs of dirt fly up.

"What will we do? Where will we go?" It was strange for her to be asking all these questions. She didn't like not knowing the answers to everything.

"I don't know, Hermione. I know that I have to get away or I'll go mad. You're an adult now; you can do what you please, but I can't stay here. I need to leave…" Hermione nodded. She knew how he felt. She very well couldn't stay here in England. Her parents were dead, the Order was gone, and Ron… _her_ Ron… was dead and not coming back.

Harry had gotten to his feet and was looking down at Ron, his best friend, with tears in his eyes. Hermione got to her feet and stood next to her last friend staring down at the comatose figure of Ron Weasley. Hermione watched, flabbergasted, as Harry drew his wand from his pocket and whispered a few words. The next thing she knew, she was surrounded by floating bodies, all soaring above her head.

Her eyes followed Ron's body but they soon landed on Harry as he let out an anguished cry and his wand hand faltered. She watched as all the bodies wobbled in the air and Hermione had a foreboding feeling that Harry would drop them all.

Quickly, she walked over to him and grabbed his free hand, squeezing it tightly and watching the floating comatose figures of family, friends, and enemies fly towards the dried up lake bed, all landing side by side. Hermione could make out the different faces and she willed herself not to cry again.

Lupin, Moody, Tonks, Dumbledore, Neville, Wormtail, Fleur, Hagrid, Seamus, Parvati, McGonagall, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, so many faces and all with a look of extreme peace, as if they had gone to sleep after an extremely tiring day. She noticed that Ron was the last one to be placed in the grave and Hermione silently said her last goodbyes.

Looking over towards the far side of the lake and noticed the black robes and masks of the felled Death Eaters lying docile in a dirt strewn resting place. It was hard to imagine that hours earlier they were a squadron of well trained killing machines. Hermione let out a shaky sigh as Harry covered the graves with a level of dirt. She saw Harry lower his wand hand and he turned around abruptly and walked away, his free hand leaving hers.

Tears were flying down Hermione's face as the dust settled and she looked over at Harry who had bent over something in the dirt. By the time she had reached Harry, he was standing up with her newly-healed wand in his hands.

"Thank you," she whispered, as she took her renovated wand from his outstretched hands. "And I'll go with you, Harry – we only have each other." She noticed a wave of relief had come over his face and she smiled at him, as much as she could with all the pain settling in her heart. She knew it would be a great deal of time before either of them could smile without pain again.

"We'd better get going then. I can't bear being here much longer," he said with a small shiver. She nodded in agreement and gently guided him in the direction of Hogsmeade. She was sure that the town had been destroyed but she had a feeling that the very old spells on Hogwarts remained and she wasn't going to test them by suggesting an Apparition be executed on the grounds. They started to walk but Hermione stopped for a moment, turning back to the lake.

"Wait," she said, and left Harry standing at the base of a hill. She couldn't care if Harry followed her or not. Taking her wand out, she walked to the base of the grave and pointed the tip at the ground. Once she had finished with the incantation, she stood, and backed into Harry who had come up behind her.

Together they looked at the large stone that marked the start of the mass grave. Hermione's words stated simply:

_We Remember_

_1998_

"Couldn't word it better myself," Harry said quietly, before they turned towards the setting sun, pocketing their wands as they went. Hermione gave a quick, sad sigh as they rounded a corner, the lives they once knew settling behind them like a thin layer of dust.


	2. Labor and Longing

First off I must thank JaxGranger from HPFF for Beta'ing this story for me! She is the greatest and I'm glad that I've started writing this again.

**Chapter One: Labor and Longing **

_I'm smart enough to know what I don't know _

_I'm fool enough to stay when I should go_

_You work, you work you cry, you cry_

_You watch your whole life pass you by_

_Sometimes you have to close your eyes to see _

"Complicated" – Bon Jovi

"Jane! Jane, I better have that report on my desk in ten minutes or I will kick your scrawny ass from here to kingdom come!" a voice growled through an intercom that was situated on a large cherry wood desk.

"Bugger," came the reply from a woman who had just threw the door to the office open and was precariously balancing a lap top, two cups of coffee and a large purse in her two hands, her keys swaying back and forth in the key hole.

"Let me help you with that," chirped a voice from behind the woman and her burden was quickly lifted and Jane Harrington rushed forward and smacked her hands down on the desk. She pressed the button on the intercom and tried to catch her breath as the person who had taken her staples placed them on the desk.

"Mr. Graydon? Mr. Graydon?" Jane said frantically in the intercom.

"Where the hell have you been Harrington?" came the response, "We're going to press in less than two hours time and I still don't have your entertainment editorial on that new performance restaurant that opened up on the Upper East Side. What am I going to tell our four million readers when their entertainment editor fails to give them an article? On my desk, ten minutes or we are going to have to have a serious conversation," the feedback from the intercom went silent and Jane sat down quickly in her seat resting her head on the desk. She did not need this, today of all days.

"I wonder why he's got his Calvin Klein Underwear in a twist," came a toothy response from the person who had helped Jane Harrington with her belongings earlier. Jane looked up and smiled at Maureen Jones, her closest friend in New York City.

"Perhaps because this is the third time this week that I've come in late?" Jane responded as she grabbed her laptop and turned it on. Without wasting a moment, she pulled out her notebook and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, her editorial. Taking a red pen, she expertly scanned her handiwork, making a few marks on the manuscript, the red ink bleeding through the fine paper.

"I have no idea how you do it," Maureen explained as she perched herself at the end of Jane's desk. She brushed through her long blonde hair and looked over at Jane who was concentrating more on her now exceedingly marked up paper rather than the conversation. "Jane, are you listening to me?"

"Huh?" she questioned absentmindedly looking up from her paper.

"I said. 'I have no idea how you can do it,'" Maureen repeated as Jane looked back towards her computer and began to make the noted corrections from her paper.

"And I have no idea how I got to be the entertainment editor of this God forsaken magazine when I keep making all these grammatical mistakes and come in late half the time," Jane retorted as she typed furiously on her computer. There was no way she would be able to get finished in time, and if she did, it would be her worst work to date.

"Stop it, Joel loves you and you know it," Maureen snapped playfully before she began to play around with a few of her pens situated on the desk. Jane sighed and went back to her work trying to clear her thoughts of everything that had been going through her head lately.

The intercom buzzed again and Jane jumped quickly her hands sliding across the keys on her keyboard, causing a jumble of words to spew out onto her word processor. She swore loudly and waited to listen who was on the other end.

"Jane! I'm giving you two more minutes!" Joel Graydon screeched into the phone, which caused Jane to swear even louder as her fingers began to fly across the keys. "Do you hear me Jane? I mean it!"

"Yes, yes, yes I hear you, bloody bastard," she mumbled as she finished off her article and clicked the print button. She heard Maureen snort with laughter and Jane looked up, shooting her a reprimanding look.

"What? You know I love your accent, it makes you that much more appealing," she explained with a big grin before she began to adjust her skirt. Jane noticed the small emblem on the side of the garment and realized that it was more than likely Gucci or Prada or a similar name. Jane had never really cared for brand name clothing. But then again, Maureen was co-editor of the fashion branch of the magazine.

"It's just an accent," Jane responded suddenly becoming more conscious of her English accent.

"I know but no one else has one in the office. Its cute, makes you more unique," Maureen explained as she inspected a finely manicured nail, "Hey do you want to check out that restaurant you wrote your editorial on tonight?" Maureen questioned as Jane quickly waved her finished pages to dry the ink before stapling them together.

"I can't, I'm busy," Jane responded absentmindedly. She didn't need to look at her wall calendar or her desk calendar or the calendar on her computer to know what day it was. She always woke up with a heavy heart and a terrible premonition and ache in her body whenever June 25th rolled around in her life. The minute her eyes opened on such a day filled with terrible memories she was filled with a cavernous sadness that had no ending and no beginning. She was empty, a shell, and sometimes it got to be more than she could bear.

"Well do you want to catch lunch?" Maureen asked before she inspected an apparent run in her stockings. That was Maureen, always checking her appearance.

"I can't, I have to work on next issue's layout. It's the biggest one for the Entertainment Department because we're covering the film festivals and art openings and things like that," Jane explained rolling her eyes. She worked away like a slave horse in this office and she hardly got any recognition from her peers.

"Can't you squeeze your best friend in for dinner tonight?" Maureen said impatience edging into her voice.

"I can't, I have…"

"…a thing with James. I know, I know. You do this around the same time every year ever since you walked into our Intro to Journalism class freshman year of college. What is it that you two do?" Maureen questioned as she walked over towards Jane a big grin playing on her lips, "You guys probably put aside a whole week of the year where you bang each other senseless…"

"MAUREEN!" Jane squealed in shock her cheeks growing red, "You above all people should know that James is like a brother to me! I would never, ever do something like that! Its incest! I can't believe you would even suggest that!" Jane added tucking a large curl behind her ear.

"When are you going to wake up and realize that you two are perfect for each other?" Maureen mused as Jane started for her office door.

"Okay," Jane started before she turned around and faced Maureen; "First off, I've known James since I was a kid. He was and still is and will forever be my best friend and that is it! We've been through a hell of a lot and I could never see myself doing anything romantic with him that's just…ew," Jane explained before she gave a involuntary shiver of disgust.

"You're freaking insane then, because I would have hopped the James Rothchild train a long time ago," Maureen explained before laughing at Jane's expression of shock that had registered on her face.

"That…" Jane began in a playfully disgusted voice, but the buzzing of the intercom interrupted her.

"JANE, IN MY OFFICE…NOW!"

"Bugger," Jane cursed before she grabbed her report and ran out of her office and down the hall. She noticed many of her co-workers and subordinates looking at her with sympathetic glances as she made her way down the long hallway to Joel Graydon's office. Jane couldn't quite get the butterflies in her stomach from forming and she tried her best to not let the nervousness she was fighting inside wash over her.

Jane came up to two large cherry wood doors, the door handles shaped in large, curvy 'G's. She knocked on the door and heard a gruff voice telling her to come in.

Jane opened the door and stepped in to the plush and rather expensive looking office of Joel Graydon; Editor-in-chief of _Glamour!_ Magazine and the workhorse that had kept Jane's nose to the grindstone for the better part of two years. She let her dark brown eyes look out through the enormous windows that boasted a view of Times Square the loud clamor of the city hushed by the thick glass that separated the office from the hot, humid summer heat outside.

Jane started to walk towards the large oak desk that was in the center of the room, her black pumps sinking into the plush dark blue carpet. She sat down in one of the two plump Italian leather chairs that were placed opposite of the desk. She noticed the large office chair that sat opposite of her was taken, the person in the chair facing the window overlooking the bustling traffic of New York.

"Mr. Graydon?" Jane began before the chair turned around and Jane was face to face with her boss.

"Ah, Harrington," Joel Graydon exclaimed as he leaned back in his chair looking at the woman in front of him with some interest. Jane smiled and placed her report on his desk. Graydon stood up and took the finished report into his oversized hands.

He walked to the opposite end of the office, his squinty blue eyes gazing over every single word that Jane had written about some restaurant. She sat there, hands clasped in her lap as she waited to be judged. He would either hate it or…

"I love it," he said simply a few minutes later before he walked back and sat down at his desk and threw his feet up lazily on his desk; expensive Italian leather shoes thrown right into Jane's face.

"What?"

"I love it! Best you've ever written! That line you said about the girl performing with the cowbell, excellent! The readers will love it," Joel explained before he placed Jane's finished report into a pile of other papers on his desk.

"Th-thank you, sir," Jane stammered wondering how she could possibly have written something that he deemed worthy for their precious readers.

"I better be careful or else you'll be taking my job!" Joel kidded before he let out a long laugh that reminded Jane of a braying donkey.

"Th-thank you!"

"Oh piss off, you don't have to thank me! You've got talent! Didn't I say that right off the bat when you were just an intern here when _Glamour!_ first got its start? I said 'That Jane Harrington has some talent! Don't put her as an intern! I want her as a junior reporter!' and look at you now! Editor for the entertainment branch of the magazine! You're going places Miss Harrington, you're definitely going places!" Joel exclaimed with such vigor that his gelled back dark hair was starting to come undone.

"Thank you," Jane said half-heartedly before she found herself staring out the window. Of course she enjoyed being an editor for one of the nation's most up and coming women's magazine but she really felt that her talents wouldn't be wasted somewhere like _The New Yorker_ or, dare she even think it, _The New York Times_.

"I want you to take the rest of the day off," Joel said suddenly, his big toothy grin bright enough to illuminate a dark room.

"What?" Jane asked incredulously.

"Yes, I want you to take the rest of the day off. You work too hard and you've been distant these passed couple of days. But then again maybe that's good for you, I like the cynical aspect of your reviews around this time of the month," Joel explained before he noted the calendar. June 25th.

"But sir, I have to work on the layout for the July issue! You told me under no circumstance that I was supposed to slack off," Jane protested.

"Shut up, Harrington, I don't want to hear it. Take the rest of the day off and I do not want to see you in this office again. Better yet, take the company card and go buy a new wardrobe. You look so frumpy in those clothes. You look like some rejected school girl from some European country. Where were you from again? Scotland, France?"

"England, sir," Jane interjected, shock registering on her face as Joel fished out his wallet and handed her a brand new, shiny plastic credit card.

"Right, England, whatever. Go out and I want to see you in my office on Monday with a new wardrobe and a new outlook on life! You've been far too depressed these passed couple of weeks and I don't want any of our senior staff members depressed! Brings the underlings' morale down and we don't want that. And before I forget, there's an art gallery opening up down in SoHo at the end of July, I want you to go to the opening, interview the artist and do a follow up report. Here's the address and the guy's name" Joel explained as he shoved a piece of paper in Jane's hand, "Now, get out of here before I change my mind," he added before he got up and walked towards her. She noticed he was wearing a new suit that probably cost him a mint, but then again he was a wealthy man and probably one of the wealthiest up and coming magazine editors.

"But, sir," Jane started before Joel began to push her towards the door.

"I don't want to hear it! Go get lunch and go to Macy's! Get the hell out of here! Don't forget the art opening, I don't want to repeat myself, it's a very important exhibit," he explained before he opened the door and gave her a small shove out the door.

"Mr. Graydon…" Jane began but Joel gave her yet another toothy smile before slamming the door in her face.

Sighing heavily, Jane walked down the hallway back to her office to grab her belongings. She hoped that Maureen had gone back to her own office so she wouldn't have to tell her that while Joel Graydon had told her off, he had given Jane the rest of the day off _and _the company card to buy a new wardrobe.

Thankfully, Maureen wasn't there when Jane entered her office. Quickly, she gathered her things and turned her light off before giving one more look around her office. She noticed her desk calendar still read _June 25th_ and, without wasting any time, she put her things down on the chair by her office door and walked to her desk.

She ripped the small piece of paper off of the desk calendar so _June 26th_ looked back at her. She sighed heavily and fought back a wave of tears that threatened to fall. Tomorrow might be another day, but it was still one more day without him and one more day that she had to fake an entire life that she had been forced to lead for five years.

Gathering her things, she walked out of her office, locking the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she started the long walk towards the elevator, ignoring the passing glares from her colleagues. She finally found herself at the elevator and she pressed the down button thankful that she was actually getting out of the office early and yet upset that she would have to face an entire day of memories without the prospect of layouts and arguing with employees to keep her mind off of things.

The doors opened and Jane walked inside, happy to see that she was the only one taking the elevator down that early in the morning. She walked towards the side of the elevator that was farthest from the doors. Taking a deep breath she rested against the wall and allowed her true self, Hermione Granger to seep through her façade as Jane.

Closing her eyes she tried her best to contain her emotions as the elevator started its journey from the thirty-third story to the ground floor. It had been five long years since she had walked away from a life that had formed her into a person she had once been. Now, she was a completely new person, a new chapter in her life, a chapter that she never wanted to begin, she was still trying to figure out how the old one had ended so unexpectedly.

She ran her hands through her curly hair knowing that they would soon grow into a mass of tangles and ringlets when she stepped out into the early morning New York humidity. Hermione had been working at _Glamour_! Magazine for the better part of four years, becoming an intern when the magazine got its start four years ago. Joel Graydon, creator and senior editor of the publication had sensed her talents and promoted her to one of the investigative reporters after only three months working as an intern. Two years later she was promoted again to editor of the entertainment section of the magazine and she held that position ever since.

And Hermione Granger hated it.

The elevator reached its final destination and the doors opened, Hermione walking out into the main lobby of the building that they shared with various other publication firms. It was a bit of a challenge having an office in the middle of one of the tourism capitals of the world, as it was rather difficult to navigate her way back to the subways with all of the tourists milling about, and Hermione was never a fan of large crowds.

She exited her building with a few other well-suited gentlemen walking down the street towards a small restaurant that she and Maureen always went to during their lunch break. It was a quaint bistro that always had their outside terrace open so the diners could watch the passer by as they ate.

When she reached the restaurant she gave her name and gave a small smile when she realized that she would be seated immediately. She had just avoided the lunch time rush by being early and she soon found herself sitting down outside under a large umbrella a black iron wrought fence the only thing separating her from the moving public on the sidewalks.

Sitting back she brushed her now bushy hair back from her face and looked at the menu the waiter had handed to her upon her entrance. She already knew what she wanted but it was the only thing she could do to keep herself from thinking about what had transpired all those years ago.

It was the anniversary of the final battle, the day her world came crashing down around her. It was the anniversary that marked the end of her childhood and the start of her adulthood as a voluntary outcast from a world she had embraced since she was eleven years old. It was the anniversary of Ron's death, and the end of her life as Hermione Granger, Witch Extraordinaire.

"Excuse me, would you care for a drink?" a voice inquired above her. Hermione looked up and found her looking into expressive, cheeky brown eyes of…

"Ron?" she murmured her breath catching in her throat. The waiter gave her a quizzical look before he pointed to his nametag.

"No, Eric," he said with a small laugh, "Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked again his notepad ready to take her order.

"Oh, just water please," she said her heart growing heavy. She turned away and looked out at all the people walking by. It was strange and horrifying at the same time at how many people reminded her of the people she had known and loved and now missed terribly. Everyone that walked by had some characteristic of the magical people she had once loved.

A grandmother was scolded her grandchildren holding up her cane as her charges rushed by and Hermione was reminded of Professor McGonagall's strict yet caring nature towards her students. A tall, quiet man in tattered clothes yet kind amber eyes walked past Hermione, giving her a mysterious smile as he walked passed. She closed her eyes being reminded of the quiet yet strong personality of Remus Lupin, a close advisor to Harry and mentor to all three of the students before the last battle claimed his life. And then there was the tall red head that sauntered past with a gangly walk, smiling happily with a blonde haired woman.

Tears threatened to fall down her face as she was reminded so strongly of Ron when another presence required her attention, and that presence was sitting across from her at her table.

"Hiya Jane!" a squeaky male voice exclaimed before it was echoed with a laugh.

"Hi Melvin," Hermione said in a somber voice trying her best to be happy at the man's company. Her defenses went up and she was once again Jane Harrington out to lunch from her exhausting job.

"You want to know why I'm here?" he asked bouncing lightly on the seat across from her.

Melvin Graydon was the cousin of Joel Graydon and a royal pain in any one's ass. A timid, frightened creature, Melvin was the bane of everyone's existence at _Glamour's! _main office, especially Jane's. Everyone at the office knew that Melvin was head over heels in love with Jane Harrington even though he couldn't tell that she was, nor would she ever be interested. He didn't have an official job at the office he was rather an assistant of sorts to Joel, running errands and pumping Joel's ego whenever he had insecurities about his designer suits or when one edition of the magazine didn't sell well.

"Why are you here?" she questioned with a small smile. She really hoped that he wasn't going to be sticking around the whole day; she didn't think she could stomach it.

"Cousin Joel told me to go out and spend the whole day with you! Isn't that great?" he questioned with a big, goofy grin.

"Fan-bloody-tastic," Jane muttered as she took a small sip of her water.

"Oh I love it when you use that British Slang! You sound so cute when you do it!" he exclaimed with an excited little squeal that alarmed a pedestrian who was walking along the side of the restaurant, "You'll have to teach me some when you get the chance!"

"When I have the time," Jane said trying to be as sweet as possible. She noticed that Melvin was trying to catch the eye of the waiter and she silently prayed that he would ignore his attempts at eye contact. But of course, Melvin always did the completely embarrassing and stood up in his seat, waving frantically for the waiter to come over.

"Excuse me!" he exclaimed, "Do you mind if I can get a menu?" he requested as he resumed his seat.

"Actually," Jane said with a small, apologetic grin as the waiter came and brought him a menu, "I had just stopped for something to drink. I'm actually on my way home," she said more to Melvin than to the listening waiter.

"Oh no you don't," Melvin said as he gave the menu back to the waiter and helped Jane get out of her seat, fumbling to pull her chair out from underneath her, "Cousin Joel said you would want to go straight home after lunch and so he told me to take you out to Macy's and to make sure that you spend the money on the company card for a new wardrobe. And besides, it's going to be so much fun!"

"Yes, just what I bloody well need," Jane thought as Melvin led her towards the street to find a cab to take them downtown.

"Rothchild, in my office, now."

Silence. Nothing but the sound of typewriters that were pouring their way through the walls of a dark and bare office.

"Rothchild? Rothchild are you there?"

Still nothing.

"ROTHCHILD! Answer me dammit! Do not make me get up and get your ass out of your office," a gruff voice snarled through the intercom. A long slender hand crept out of the shadows of darkness and pressed the green button on the intercom.

"I'll be right there Mr. Hoskins," came a somber voice laced with a sardonic edge.

"You had better be. I've had it up to here with your bullshit." The feedback disappeared and the figure was met with silence once again. James Rothchild, known to a generation as Harry Potter, sat back in his rigid sparsely padded desk chair and rubbed his hands over his face. It had been a long day at work and it wasn't even lunch yet. But then again, around this time of year he never had a knack for appetite.

It had been five years. Five years of not doing magic, not having best friends and mentors and family around him to help when he needed it the most, not having a world that was so comforting and would support him in whatever decision he chose to make, not having the woman of his dreams. It had been five long years he had to live as a muggle, something he never dreamed he would be doing. Now he was stuck in an office in downtown Manhattan trying his best to focus on work, but finding that his mind would slip back of memories past and haunt his thoughts for the rest of the day.

And now his boss wanted him in his office, never a good sign at Hoskins and Burns, the law firm in which he had been working for two years. He hated it with every fiber of his being and wanted nothing more than to burn the place to the ground… but that would be impossible. His wand was under lock and key underneath a floorboard in his apartment that he shared with Hermione on the Upper East Side of the island. It had been there since their arrival to America five years ago.

He had no one to blame but himself for the life he led now. All he had to do was go back to living his life as a wizard after the final battle, but he was a coward. He couldn't face the pity, the hero worship he would be bound to live should he not turn his back and leave everything he had ever known. This was his life now.

James got up from his seat and walked out of his workplace and towards his boss's office. He shuffled along the wooden floors, his loafers scuffing the hardwood floors. He could hear one of his coworkers getting ready to scold him but he continued to saunter to Hoskins' office. James hardly had the time to worry about who was going to be cleaning up his scuffmarks. In fact, he couldn't even give a damn. Not when the pain was welling up inside and aching to be let out.

He finally reached the door of Hoskins' office and he half heartedly knocked on the door, knowing that this meeting wasn't going to be that wonderful at all. A gruff voice granted him entrance and James opened the door, stepping inside.

"I've got a bone to pick with you Rothchild, sit down," Hoskins explained indicating to an uncomfortable chair that was in front of his large desk. James sat down and looked into the dull eyes of his boss, Bob Hoskins. James was strongly reminded of a pug when looking into the face of Hoskins. The wrinkles in his forehead were pulling down towards his eyes, creating a masks of wrinkles that made his large dark eyes pop out of his head, creating the image that if he were to be squeezed, his eyes would be expunged from his head. His mouth was a straight line of firmness that demanded no slack or disrespect be paid. He wasn't a very tall man, but short and round, reminding James of his once cousin back in England and the insufferable Pansy Parkinson whom James was strangely missing at that moment. "Well? Are you going to ask me what the matter is?" Hoskins questioned as he leaned back in his chair, the most expensive thing in his office.

"Yes sir." James replied looking up at the ceiling. He noticed the small bumps that the paint had caused and wonder what would happen if he didn't pay attention at this meeting at all and merely counted the bumps in the ceiling.

"You're slacking off," came the gruff response. James took his eyes off of the ceiling and winced when he noticed the extra folds of skin around Hoskins' chin were flopping around as he cleared his throat, "I know this time of year is bad for you, but we're up to our necks in shit, you know that." Hoskins explained folding his meaty hands together on his bulging stomach.

"Yes sir."

"I need you to review the Shadowboxer and Wallgren case and have it done before lunch."

Dammit he wasn't going to get it done by then, at least not if he didn't put his nose to the grindstone and actually work on a case for once.

"And the Cleary vs. Borrows case by the end of the day…"

He was going to have to skip his afternoon break. Wonderful.

"And the Simpson vs. Benton case as well."

James sighed and slumped into his chair. Why not just give him all the cases to review to make this day that much more wonderful?

"Joanne is filing off the Collins vs. Johnson case as well, so get that from her when you leave my office…"

"Merlin," James breathed before he realized his mistake and sat up in his chair hoping Hoskins didn't notice his slip.

"Merlin? What the hell are you going on about? I knew you were a fucked up kid when you came into this office, but I didn't know how fucked up you were. Get those things done by the end of the day or you and I are going to have a very serious talk."

Seeing that he was excused, James got up from his seat and started back to his office dreading the amount of work hours he was going to have to put forward today. Did they not understand that around this time was a mourning process for him? He had taken off the week of June 25th every year since his coming to Hoskins and Burns and yet now they needed him due to some influx in cases that were coming to the firm.

James walked back into his office and opened up a few of the filing cabinets. He gave a huge sigh as he grabbed the first case and sat down in his chair rubbing his temples as he began to review the case at hand.

"Are you ready?" came the squeaky voice from behind one of the doors.

"Yes, Melvin. I'm ready," Jane said. Her exasperation was obvious as she sat there with a bored expression on her face waiting for Melvin to come out of the fitting room. They had already found her a few new sets of work clothes and now Melvin had explained that Joel wanted him to improve his fashion sense. So before Jane had the chance to sneak away from Melvin after her shopping escapade, he had grabbed her hand and pulled her up to the fourth floor of Macy's so they could shop for some business suits. They had been in the department store for more than five hours and Jane was at her wit's end.

"I don't think you're ready for this! I look, how do you say it in your slang, smashing!"

"Yes, I'm sure you do," Jane replied back as she leaned back on one of the overstuffed couches outside the dressing rooms.

"Here I come!"

"Wonderful," Jane murmured sarcastically as the door at the far end of the dressing stalls opened up. Melvin came rushing down the corridor, dressed in brown slacks, a black jacket and a green dress shirt. He had a white tie that was untied and flopping around him, smacking a young man in the face just as he walked out of his own dressing stall.

"How do I look?" he asked stepping in front of her. It took Hermione a great deal of self-control to not burst out into peals of laughter. She instantly thought back to Ron's Gryffindor sweaters and how they were always the wrong shade of red to go with his hair. Of course, thinking this, she was immediately thrown back into old memories and the pangs in her heart and stomach escalated until tears were brimming from her eyes.

"Jane? Jane are you alright? Why are you crying? Is it that bad?" came responded frantically as he kneeled down in front of her, grasping her hand. Jane pulled her hand away and nodded her head.

"Of course I'm alright. You just look brilliant in that suit. Green brings out the color in your eyes," she explained with a small smile, forcing the tears back down.

"Really? You think so?" he questioned his eyes lighting up with happiness.

"Yes, of course," she added with another grin. Jane shook her head at the young man's rather goofy and intolerable grin before he jumped up and rushed back towards his dressing stall, no doubt grabbing everything he had tried on so he could purchase it. Jane couldn't wait to see Joel's response on Monday when Melvin walked into the office with his wonderfully mismatched get up. It was almost too good to imagine.

Moments later, Melvin was out of the fitting rooms, clothes draped over his arm. Jane grabbed her bags and joined him at the check out stall checking her clock. It was going on five o' clock and she still had to pick up dinner from the deli.

"Jane, did you hear me?" Melvin asked anxiously. Jane looked over and noticed that Melvin was looking at her with extreme worry on his face. She nodded her head as he placed his purchases on the counter, the sales girl making a face at the horrid colors of clothes that were making their way into her perfectly manicured hands.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't." Jane responded brushing an enormous curl behind her ear.

"Well I was just wondering if you weren't busy…"

Here we go again. It was custom after every single outing that Melvin had taken Jane out on, he would ask her for dinner that night or sometime that week. And the answer was always the same: a resounding 'no.'

"Maybe we could go for dinner tonight or something?"

Jane smiled softly at Melvin and she noticed his wide eyes of hope staring back at her. She hated doing this time and time again and wondered why he didn't just get a clue and stop chasing her but she didn't have the gall to break his heart.

"I can't Melvin," Jane responded and noticed his crestfallen look as he handed over the company card.

"Why not?"

"Because, I have a thing with James tonight," she responded automatically. That had always been her response whenever Melvin asked her for a date. She knew that if she made her excuse work related, Melvin would ask his cousin to pardon Jane for an evening or a lunch and then she would have no way of backing out of it. It was always better to mention James instead.

"Oh. Well okay," he said his eyes flashing when Jane had mentioned James. She knew that Melvin was rather jealous of her best friend because of all the time he was able to spend with Jane but then again, James had never nor would ever ask for a romantic relationship between the two of them. Their friendship was too sacred.

"But maybe some other time?" she said as he took his bags from the sales woman.

"Sure, yeah sure!" he said his excited and exuberant demeanor returning rapidly.

"Well I have to get back to my flat, I have to get dinner ready," she explained, "Goodbye Melvin."

"Cheerio, Jane!" came his response before he walked in the opposite direction.

Hermione let out a breath of fresh air as she started towards the exit of the large department store. She was glad to be rid of Melvin and now she could focus on the dinner she was supposed to make for that night. She and Harry always switched off on the night of the anniversary and this year it was her turn to try and make something worth eating, as both were rather shabby cooks.

Taking her time, Hermione made her way to the subway stations along with the throng of late night shoppers. She allowed herself to be shuffled about in the melee of people trying to get home from work and play wondering if the tumultuous waves would push her to the train she was trying to take uptown. Not that it really mattered, she would find her way home. She always did.

She made her way into the subways, letting the myriad of evening shoppers and businessmen push her down the stairs. She clutched onto her purchases and purse tightly as she found herself in the middle of a crowd of people. She had never been a fan of people since that day five years ago and she hated the subways. But right now she didn't care; she hardly cared about anything at all. All Hermione wanted to do was to find her way home and do her best to cook a dinner she didn't even want to make. She wanted to retreat to her bedroom, pull up the large photo album that sat on her bookshelf in her bedroom and shift through all the old memories that never wanted to let go even though she was fighting their grasp every day.

She had been very good about not letting herself look at old photos. It only brought pain and suffering into her life and she had enough on her hands anyway. Harry, however, was another story. She was always finding him looking through old photos, notes, and even pulling an old spell book from underneath his bed when he thought she wasn't looking. He had taken it the hardest of all and it was nearly impossible to treat him like a civil human being when this time of the year appeared. He was inconsolable in his grief and it pained Hermione to realize that she could do nothing to comfort her dear friend. His pain went down deeper than her own no matter how much she thought she grieved more than Harry.

Hermione appeared at the turn gate and swiped her subway card, the machine clicked and she passed through, free from the crowds for only a moment before being swallowed whole once more. It was the same thing every day. She was nameless; no one cared for her in this city of eight million people except for one person who was miles and miles away. An unidentified woman among the sea of people, it was what she had wanted when she had decided to live her life in exile and she was living it, every single day of her life.

But she hated it. She hated not being surrounded by people who cared and, even though she told herself that Joel and Melvin and Maureen cared for her, she knew they didn't. They didn't know her. They only knew Jane Harrington, the outer shell of the complex character of Hermione Granger. Jane was just a wall she put up, an alias, no one knew her for her in this world and they never would. They couldn't, and she wouldn't let them in.

Five minutes later, Hermione made her way into the subway car, packed in like a can of sardines as the doors finally closed. There were no seats available so she quickly went forward and grabbed the metal railing that ran about the entire interior of the car to steady her balance. The car jolted to life and she rocked back and forth with the other patrons closing her eyes and willing herself to be somewhere else.

She stayed like that for most of the ride home, her thoughts in limbo as she was thinking of nothing and yet everything all at once. The faces of the people she once knew were drifting in and out of her inner consciousness and their voices roared in her ears. Slowly, and quietly, Hermione began to cry as the lights in the car flickered on and off.

"What do you want for dinner tonight?" the expressionless voice sounded over the phone as James poured himself over his work. He had been going at it nonstop for the past three hours on one case in particular and he was finding it hard to not throw the myriad of papers across the room at the closed door that shielded the dark lobby of the firm beyond his office.

"I really don't care right now," he responded rubbing his temple with his free hand as he tried his best to not go completely mad.

"I need to know so I can pick some things up," her voice escalated heatedly. James rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair.

"Look, 'Mione,"

"_Don't _say that," she snapped, "Someone in the office might overhear you!"

"Yes, because everyone likes to stay in the office two hours after it closes," James retorted sardonically as he stacked some papers up before stapling them together. That was finished, there was only one more and then he could get out of this hellhole.

"Don't be cheeky with me James, how was I to know you had a bad day?"

"Did you happen to glance at the calendar on your way out?" he said bitterly, "Look, I can't really talk; I have to finish this case. Get some chicken or something," he replied before his thoughts were plunged into an icy pond of memories. His Godfather's favorite food was chicken. Of course that happened to be whenever he was a dog, but still, "I really don't care."

"Seems you've stopped caring about a lot of things," she snapped back before James was left with a dead line.

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself before he slammed a fist on his desk. He looked back at his work and pushed it away with distaste. He wasn't in the mindset to deal with legal cases, he had never been in the mood really, but he had to make up a façade and keep with it. It was something he hated but he did it for his own protection, for Hermione's protection. Taking a few deep breaths he grabbed the papers he had pushed away and began to work on them fervently again.

All was quiet in a small apartment that was located in the Upper East Side of Manhattan save for the tapping of nails on glass. Hermione looked up and glanced at the clock that rested over the television in front of her. It was almost nine o' clock and she hadn't heard anything from Harry since she had called him two hours ago asking him what he had wanted for dinner.

That dinner was now sitting in the kitchen, cold and worthless to her now. It wouldn't taste the same if she heated it up in the microwave and her blood ran hot just thinking about the indecency Harry was showing her today, of all days.

She had half the mind to phone him but she knew that that would just peeve him and she knew that he shouldn't be placed in an even worse mood. She knew what he was like when he was exceptionally angry and put off.

Hermione sat back in her chair and looked down at her glass of red wine. She let the contents swirl around in the glass watching bubbles rise and cling to the side of the glass. Sighing she raised the glass to her lips and took a sip just as the clock struck nine and a key was heard jamming into the keyhole of the front door.

She jumped in her seat and turned around to glance a ways down the open corridor to see a rather tired Harry stumble through the door. His eyes were dark from lack of sleep and overwork and Hermione instantly felt badly for scolding him on the phone. He looked exhausted and she had a feeling he would be in no mood for eating.

"Hey," he said tiredly as he walked down the steps into the sunken living room, sitting in the sofa that was next to Hermione's easy chair.

"Hello," she said softly her eyes evading his as she brought her attention back to her glass, "How was your day?"

"Do you have to ask?" he asked coldly as he grabbed the wine bottle on the coffee table in front of the sofa and grabbed the empty wine glass next to it. He poured himself a glass and sat back in the sofa, his eyes looking at the blank screen of the television across from him, "Today was terrible."

Hermione nodded and tried her best not to keep staring at him. He looked so haunted sitting there, a shell of what he normally was during the rest of the year. She had no idea what was running through his head, if his thoughts were the same as hers. But she was almost certain that his were far worse and terrifying than her own. After all, she didn't have to face down one of the most tyrannical and petrifying Dark Lords in the history of their world. She was merely a key player in the War and while she had losses, she wasn't considered the Messiah.

"I know, everywhere I looked, I saw someone I thought I knew," she said gently, looking down in her lap.

"I see them every day," came his unnerving response. Hermione bowed her head and looked away; it was near impossible to talk to him today, she felt so guilty when she tried to talk to him.

"There's dinner in the kitchen. It's a bit cold but its chicken and a salad and potatoes," she added helpfully wondering if he would have half the appetite to at least eat something.

"I'm not hungry."

"Have you eaten at all today?"

"No."

"Harry, you have to eat something," Hermione urged gently knowing that she was treading on thin ice, "You have to eat,"

"I wasn't hungry today," he responded as he took another sip of wine, his stomach growling gently, hinting Hermione otherwise.

"I could make you soup or something, I mean, something small," she said weakly knowing she was fighting a losing battle. Harry could be just as headstrong as she was.

"Would you stop pestering me? I told you once already that I'm not hungry. Drop it."

"Sorry," Hermione responded meekly as she finished the contents of her glass. The room was bathed in an inky silence, the only interruption was Harry's glass clinking on the table a few minutes later.

"I wonder what its like now," Harry muttered to himself as he leaned back into the couch, folding his hands into his lap.

"What, what is like now?" Hermione asked looking over at Harry intently.

"What our world is like. If they managed to survive at all, if Hogwarts has been rebuilt," he explained his green eyes hollow, like tunnels.

"We promised ourselves we wouldn't talk about that anymore," Hermione softly explained, "We promised…"

"Yeah, well things change and so do promises," Harry snapped before he stood up and grabbed his wine glass.

"What are you playing at?" Hermione asked as she got to her feet and followed Harry into the kitchen, "Why do we have to talk about back then? Can we just move on?"

"Sometimes you can't," Harry said as he walked over to where their dinner sat on the counter. He lazily poked one of the chickens before he picked up the plate and dumped the contents into the sink.

"What the bloody hell are you doing? Do you know how hard I worked on that?" Hermione said her voice rising shrilly.

"Why should I let it sit around when you and I both know that I won't eat it," he said simply and Hermione could feel her temper rising.

"Then you should have told me when I called you to not buy chicken at all!"

"Like you would have listened to me," Harry snapped back, a sneer playing on his lips, "You never listen anymore!"

"Can we not get into this? I don't want to get into an argument with you, not today…"

"Why? It happens every year, why don't we continue the tradition! At least we broke the old one!" Harry countered his voice rising and falling with a sardonic happiness.

"What tradition is that?" Hermione asked from the opposite side of the kitchen.

"The tradition of somebody we know dying around this time every year. We broke that one five years ago!" he snapped angrily before he turned on the sink.

"Why are you acting like this?" Hermione demanded as she strode to Harry's side, trying to look at him in the face. His eyes were focused on the food that was now making its way down the drain. Hermione closed her eyes trying to will the hot tears away. She hated it when his temper flared up and it was worse than usual, he had never acted like this before.

"Would you just piss off?" Harry bellowed turning towards her, his eyes narrowed and a scowl hanging heavy on his mouth. Hermione cowered and rushed out of the kitchen, covering her face with her hands as she rushed to the couch, flinging herself face first into the plush brown fabric.

Harry tried his best not to listen to her muffled sobs as he watched the water catch the food and finally plop into the bottom of the sink, now soggy and ruined. Today had been a terrible day and he didn't want to deal with it any longer. All he wanted to do was finish his glass of wine, go to his room, and look at a photo album of past years and go to sleep. But of course he could never go to sleep on a night like this. His nights were always haunted by those he had lost years before; they were always there to greet him and sometimes all he wanted to do was to slip in a dreamless sleep where he didn't have to look at a single thing that he knew: only darkness. That was all he wanted, and all he craved but he was given something completely different. Nightmares and dreams of the past and what could have been were always there to see him as soon as he set his glasses on his bedside table and close his eyes. He wouldn't be able to escape them in a thousand years.

Harry put his hands on the counter and leaned against it trying to block out Hermione in the background. Every year he always made her cry, it wasn't a goal he particularly strove for but it always happened and he was always sorry the minute he saw the tears surface in her brown eyes. He knew he should go apologize but that would be in vain as Hermione would be inconsolable for the next few hours. Once she started crying over his own stupidity she would think back to what had happened and then she wouldn't be crying over what Harry had said or done to her, but she would cry for Ron and for her parents and the rest of the Weasleys and everyone else she had held dear to her in her life.

Harry had tried his best to block out the past but it always managed to seep in through the walls he had constructed around himself and consume him. It was impossible for him to forget and he was always shoved back into some hellish nightmare of his past. The death of his parents, Cedric's death, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ginny, Neville, he had been present at all of their deaths and yet was powerless to stop their demise.

Ginny's had been the worst. He quickly grabbed his wine glass and took a sip watching in his mind's eye as Lucius Malfoy stunned him and made him watch the slow death of Ginny Weasley and he had done nothing. He sat there and watched her being tortured within an inch of life before Malfoy finally released him from the spell and then, conjured the Killing Curse in a blink of an eye before Disapperating from the scene.

He remembered watching Ginny's form crumple to the earth, enveloped in a green light, as her lifeless body became cold and stiff. Harry remembered running to her and holding her in his arms the cries of pain and the tears never stopping.

The wineglass he had been holding onto shattered, the fragments of glass slicing into his hand. Harry recoiled quickly and watched silently as the pieces of wineglass fell to the ground and blood soaked his hand. He looked down at his hand stupidly, dumbfounded at what had just happened.

"Harry?"

He looked up and saw Hermione standing in the doorway, her eyes red and cheeks wet from crying. Her mouth was wide open in shock as she rushed forward and grabbed onto his injured hand, his blood flowing onto her palm.

"What did you do?" she questioned before she turned on the water and shoved his hand underneath the running water. Harry yelped at the pain as she raced to a small cabinet near the refrigerator and pulled out a first aide kit.

"I lost control and I broke the glass," Harry explained calmly. Even though his hand stung, it didn't hurt him like it would to many other people. Glancing at the scar from where Wormtail had cut him during his fourth year he knew there were pains much worse.

"You did quite a number on yourself," she explained before she turned the water off and led Harry over to the small table in the breakfast nook. She sat him down and took his hand holding it on the table. She looked at the various small cuts and the large one in the center before she opened up the first aide kit and pulled out various different medications and bandages.

"I lost control," he repeated, "Sorry." His eyes watched as Hermione pulled out some cotton swabs and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"This'll sting a bit," she explained as she poured some of the liquid on the cotton. Without waiting, she applied the moist cotton on his hand and Harry yelled in protest as the stinging traveled up his arm and into his head. "I said it would sting!" she exclaimed as she continued to rub his wound.

"Yeah but it bloody hurts," he muttered before she put the used cotton swab on the table. She picked up a bandage and some gauze and began to wrap his hand up, Harry giving her an approving look.

"There, all finished," Hermione said as she looked up at Harry, her eyes retrieving some of their warm glow. Harry mumbled his thanks and kept his bandaged hand in hers for a moment, glad to know that he had someone in his life that could understand what he was going through.

"What would I do without you?" he asked mainly to himself before he felt himself become overwhelmed with emotion. His eyes welled up and he turned away from Hermione, his bandaged hand leaving her warm grasp. He put his uninjured hand against his forehead and sucked in the sobs and tears that were on the verge of surfacing.

Hermione stood up and began to pack away the different pieces of the first aide kit. She knew it would do better to let Harry have his own grieving time. She was always a bit uncomfortable around people who cried, as she had no idea how to comfort them, Harry especially. He was such a strong and able minded person that it was very rare when he would completely shut down and become grief-stricken. She was always afraid he would do something too drastic and she would be powerless to stop him.

Standing up, she started for the kitchen to stow away the kit when a hand grabbed onto her arm. Turning around, she looked down and saw Harry looking up at her, his tear stained face pleading her to stay with him. Harry quietly got out of his chair and slid to the floor dragging Hermione with him. She placed the kit on the ground and looked back at Harry who seemed to be overcome with a new wave of tears.

"It'll be alright," she said softly before he had flung his arms around her and was now weeping uncontrollably in her arms. Hermione gingerly wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes trying her best to soothe the young man who was behaving so much like a child.

"I don't want to remember this anymore," he gasped out between his sobs, "I just want to be normal and not have to go back there anymore. I don't want to see their faces."

"I know, I know," Hermione soothed, "Don't worry, you'll be alright."

"I hate waking up everyday thinking it was a bad dream and I'll wake up in the Burrow and you and Ron and the Weasleys will be there and…and…" Harry began but he was unable to continue and instead, proceeded to further soak Hermione's blouse.

Hermione closed her eyes and imagined waking up to the smell of Mrs. Weasley's porridge in the morning and the scent of Fred and George's latest invention wafting through the floorboards of the Burrow. She could see the clock on the ground floor indicating that Mr. Weasley was at work as was Bill, Charlie and Percy. She imagined Ginny had just woken up and was out de-gnoming the garden and she and Harry and Ron were upstairs in his room waiting for Hedwig to deliver the morning post…

Soon the imagery and images were too strong for Hermione and she too found herself crying with Harry on the floor of their apartment, which, despite the expensive furniture and seemingly homely atmosphere was really a shoddy, ramshackle place that was cold and terse to the two young people in the room.

Both stayed on the floor, crying until they couldn't find it in themselves to cry any longer. The night passed quickly and it wasn't until well after June 25th had ended that they found themselves shuffling back to their respective rooms falling into bed only to be caught by the memories imagining to be dreams and caging them into a maze of nightmares they couldn't possibly fight their way out of without waking up drenched with sweat or covered with tears.


End file.
